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DREAMS 0' MINE 

By NICHOLAS O'TYNE 




DREAMS O' MINE 



DREAMS O' MINE 

BY 
NICHOLAS O* TYNE 

- 




LAGRANGE, INDIANA 

L. A. FOSTER 8c CO., PUBLISHERS 

1917 






©C1.A462632 

APR 30 1317 
1A* \ s 



*U 



TO MY WIFE 

The best and truest woman 
I have ever known 



CONTENTS 



Page 

Don't Fret 15 

When the Stars of Morn are Fadin' 16 

The End of the Road 19 

Contented 21 

Faith 23 

Mirandy Jane 25 

Comrades 30 

Darn 32 

Shiftless 33 

To My Soul 35 

Bud Says 39 

Reveries 43 

June 47 

Evening 51 

The Shadow of the Cross 53 

Yesterday — Today — Tomorrow 58 

Jest Filosofy 61 

A Travesty 65 



The Islands of Home 69 

Thoughts in a Church 71 

Evening in a Cemetery 76 

The Way 82 

Courtin' 84 

Memories 90 

The Call of the Road 93 

Eventide 95 

The Island Fair of Dreams 97 

Morning at Cedar Lake 100 

Anodyne 103 

Grit 105 



DREAMS O' MINE 



Oh, dreams o' mine, of fancies born, 
Grim views of death and sighs forlorn, 
And whimsies in a lighter vein, 
Like glimpse of sunshine after rain; 
Of changing thoughts, a mirror fair, 
And moods unstable as the air. 



DON'T FRET 



Good brother, cease your fretting, 
Smooth out your wrinkled brow, 

You'll be over your plight 

And all will be right, 

In a hundred years from now. 

In a hundred years from now, my friend, 

In a hundred years from now, 
You'll have ceased your contriving 
And all of your striving, 

In a hundred years from now. 



WHEN THE STARS OF MORN ARE FADIN' 



When the stars of morn are fadin' and the dew is 

on the rose, 
And the night breeze still is sleepy and a noddin' 

as it goes, 
And the medder-lark is singin' in the maple by 

the stream, 
And the robin's chirpin' gentle as he sees the early 

gleam 
Of the sun a peepin' o'er the tiptop of the world 
And a growin' ever brighter as the robes of night 

are furled ; 
Ah! It's then that life's worth livin' and my soul 

with rapture glows, 
When the 'stars of morn are fadin' and the dew is 

on the rose. 

Yesterday was full of sorrow and its night was full 

of pain 
And the chirpin' of the crickets drove me mighty 

nigh insane, 
And the moanin' wind of midnight seemed to try 

its level best 
Just to ruffle up my temper and to banish sleep 

and rest; 



And a screech owl near my window, like a demon 

with its scream, 
Woke me from my restless slumber like a fearful, 

hateful dream, 
Drove away all thoughts of sleepin', tore to shreds 

my poor repose — 
When the stars of morn were fadin' and the dew was 

on the rose. 

Then I wandered through the medder and along the 

woodlot stream 
Just a-drinkin J in the music and a-lookin' at the 

gleam 
Of the sun rays shootin' higher, pushin' back the 

shades of night, 
And a-gildin all creation with their fingertips of 

light, 
Just a-paintin all the landscape purple, orange, 

red and gold 
'Til the earth looked like the elf land where the 

fairies revel hold. 
All my cares and troubles leave me, all my sadness 

quickly goes — 
When the stars of morn are fadin' and the dew is 

on the rose. 



17 



When the stars of morn are fadin' and the dew is 

on the rose — 
0, 'tis then that heaven's near me and angelic 

music flows 
Far above me in the splendor of the glorious dawn 

of day, 
Like the anthems of the angels on the Master's 

natal day, 
Risin' faint o'er sylvan chorus to the azure dome 

above, 
Bringin' peace unto the weary, tellin' of the Sa- 
vior's love; 
And my soul brims o'er with gladness and I know 

that God is close — 
When the stars of morn are fadin' and the dew is 

on the rose. 



18 



THE END OF THE ROAD 



When I sleep at last 'neath the marble 
In the shade of the maple or yew, 
Unreeking the tempest or sunshine, 
Unheeding the rain or the dew, 
When the trials of life are forgotten, 
Forgotten its cares and the load, 
0, what the reward I may hope for 
To find at the end of the road? 

The pathway leads up from the valley 
Through dangers of morass and glen, 
Leads darkly e'er on through the forest, 
Leads onward through torrent and fen, 
Still ever the pathway leads upward, 
And rugged and long is the way, 
'Til I reach the crest of the mountain 
At the weary end of the day. 

The top of the beautiful mountain 
Gleams bright in the evening sun, 
And sweet is the rest from my labors 
When the toilsome journey is done. 



All past is the shame and the sinning, 
And past is the struggle for fame, 
And worthless is wealth and ambition 
When death puts an end to the game. 

I know I'll find sleep without waking, 
Just a dreamless, beautiful sleep, 
Just a restful, untroubled slumber, 
As deep as the ocean is deep, 
With never a thought of the morrow, 
Its pleasures, its losses or gain, 
All careless alike of its sunshine, 
All heedless alike of its rain. 

0, what the reward I may hope for, 
To find at the end of the way, 
When daisies are nodding above me 
And I sleep at the end of the day? 
0, may it be surcease of sorrow 
That with me the journey has trod; 
May it be the boon without measure — 
That I rest at peace with my God. 



20 



CONTENTED 



The seasun's orful backard like," sez farmer Jim 
to Bill, 

"The tater bugs is eatin up the truck patch on the 
hill, 

The medder land is fur too wet, the cornfields is 
too dry, 

The weavils got my crop of wheat, the shintzbugs 
got my rye. 

My turkeys is a-droopin round, my chickens got the 

Pip, 
I got to give my flock of ewes anuther dose of 

dip; 

Mirandy's got the ager shakes, an Katie she aint 
well, 

Until it seems the hull durned place is goin plum 
to — well 



I jest aint go' to say the place we air all headed fur; 

It never duz no good to cuss and set around an slur; 

*N then, you know, I never wuz much given to 

complain. 
I wish that treetoad'd shet his head er bring a 
spell of rain. 

Ef this durned drowth don't soon bust up the crops 

is gone to pot — 
'N then ef it should rain too much, the hay is sure 
to rot. 
'N, say, I mos' forgot to tell, the heifer's lost 

her calf. 
An cholery 's got my fattest shoat, 'snuff to drive 
me daf. 

Wats that you say? My barn is full of last year's 

crop of hay, 
En ef I dont have eny corn, I've plenty enyway? 
Yer like my wife and darter Kate, the hull durned 

kit and bilin 
They never seem to worry none ef everything is 
spilin. 



22 



My hired man is puny-like, aint hardly worth a cuss, 
We had a chawin match today. He raised an awful 
fuss 
Jest cause he had to milk the cows — there's only 

ten or so — 
Fore brekfus, sed he'd draw his pay and quit 
right then and go. 

Wall, yes, the oats is lookin well, but then they're 

mostly straw, 
An full of smut as they can be, and fallen down. 
But, pshaw! 
Ez I sed, Bill, sum time ago, I never stew ner fret 
Jest cause the season's too durned dry or else too 
thunderin wet. 

I know I'm jest like you air, Bill, I take things ez 

they come, 
I never worry none at all, it aint no use, by gum! 
Jest cause thar's ever 'thing gone wrong and I cant 

make a cent, 
I never grumble ner complain, am never dis- 
content. 



23 



FAITH 



I know not whence the call shall come 
From mountainside or plain, 
To put aside earth's petty things 
And homeward turn again. 

If it shall come at noontide's hour 
Or darkest watch of night, 
My Father's hand shall lead me on 
To find the path aright. 

I know not where my Father dwells, 
In mansions bright and fair; 
But this I know : He guards my way 
With tender love and care. 

Strong are His arms to shelter me 
And safe my soul shall rest — 
Life's turmoil and its grief forgot — 
Upon His loving breast. 



MIRANDY JANE 



Mirandy Jane is porely like, she's sick beyunt a 

doubt, 
She jest dont seem to care to work, an is all petered 
out 
An goes a-pokin round the house, all puny-like 

an slow 
An takes a nour to milk the cows — they's only 
ten or so. 
Twus jest last night I sez to her, sez I: " Mirandy 

Jane, 
I'm feared you tuck a nawful cold, last Sunday, 
in the rain. 

An nen she sez, sez she to me: "Wy, Hiram, how 

you talk! 
I'll own that I'm all tuckered out, I seurse can 
hardly walk." 
"Mirandy Jane," sez I ter her, "You go see 
Doctor Snow" — 



He is the veterinary man that travuls with a 
show — 
An nen Mirandy Jane got mad, as mad as she could 

get 
An she lowed she'd take no medicine dosed out by 
ary vet. 

An sed that I must send to town, 'twant nuthin 

else would do, 
An get the wise old doctor Fake that's treatin 
sister Sue. 
Wall, now, to cut the story short, I went and 

brung him out; 
That doctor-man he knows his biz beyunt a shade 
er doubt, 
Tuck off his hat and set right down close by Mirandy 

Jane 
An sed that she wuz lookin bad an "had she eny 
pain?" 



26 



An nen he turned aroun to me, his looks a-speekin 

volyumes, 
Sez he: "Yer wife's real trubble lies in her spinal 
colyumes. ' ' 
I didn't know jest whut he meant and then he 

lucidated, 
And splained to me jest whut it was an whar 
twas located, 
An told me how it wuz some bones runs which way 

an tuther — 
Our heads air fastened to one end, we set on the 
other. 

Sez lie to me, he sez, sez he: " She's in bad con- 
dition, 
An it is such a streak of luck I am her physician." 
I want to say right now an here, it makes me sick 

an faint 
Fur I aint sure what she is got is fatal or it aint. 



27 



The doctor then he told me more, an this is w'at 

he said: 
"Mirandy's brains is meltin-like, an runnin from 

her head, 

Right down into these holler bones, that colyume, 

don't you know, 
An then her stomach is so weak, it throws em off 
too slow. 
Her bronkel tubes is rotted off, her diagram is 

loose, 
I'm much afraid her lights is out, if so 'twill raise 
the duce; 
I'm sure her liver's up side down, her bile is out 

of whack 
Her lungs is both clean out of place, I've got to get 
em back." 



28 



I tell you wat, I wuz scared stiff, w'y I'm a trimblin 

yet; 
I fixed it with him then an thar to doctor her, you 
bet. 
I give to him my brindul cow, a twenty dollar 

bill, 
An he's agreed to give her all "his tenshun, 
time an skill.' ' 
Fur w'en it comes to curin her, I'll spare no cash 

or pain; 
I'd ruther sell the sorrel mare than lose Mirandy 
Jane. 



29 



COMRADES 



We follow the road together, 
My comrade, Death, and I; 
I travel the wide world over 
With him e'er nigh. 
He stood by my cradle watching, 
Guarded by childhood play; 
He's ever, forever present, 
Both night and day. 

The path may lead on to glory 
Far up the hill of fame, 
It may lead upward to honor 
Or down to shame; 
Wherever the highway leads me, 
Whatever may betide, 
Wherever I bend my footsteps 
He walks beside. 



30 



He sits with me sleeping, sleepless, 

Treads by me all day long, 

Escapes him no note or whisper 

Of sigh or song; 

I may not forget his presence 

At festal banquets bright; 

He shares my seasons of pleasure 

And silent night. 

Comrade of life, I salute thee, 

My deathless comrade, Death. 

Keep me in closest communion 

'Til my last breath. 

Friend Death, give me of thy counsel 

As long as life shall last, 

And I'll not forget my teaching 

'Til time is past. 



31 



DARN 



I plant a garden in the spring and toil and sweat 
like everything, and hoe the weeds and pull the grass 
and try to raise some garden sass. I work that 
garden, wet and dry, it is the apple of my eye. It's 
filled with pickle, pea and beet and other things 
that's good to eat. My neighbor's rooster grim and 
tall, creeps through the broken garden wall and 
brings with him his haughty flock, Minorcas black 
and Plymouth Rock, and all with vim and purpose 
fell, soon tear my garden all to glory. The grocer- 
man, with smiles of glee, delivers garden truck to 
me; and when the evening's sun is low, I hear my 
neighbor's rooster crow. Next year I'll raise no 
cabbage red, but keep a dozen hens instead, and turn 
them out to roam and prey and seek my neighbor's 
truck to slay; if they'll fulfill my grim intent, I'll 
rest at peace and die content. 



32 



SHIFTLESS 



When a lazy kind of musick 
Loafs around an airly morn. 
An I here its drcwsey cadense 
In the rustlin of the corn, 
In the squirruTs keerlus chatter, 
In the sleepy drone of bees 
As they loiter in the clover 
Neth the whisperin apple trees, 

An above the misty mountin, 
That lies dreemin in the haze, 
Flote the fleesy clouds of mornin 
Crimsuned by the dazzlin rays 
Of the sun a-peepin over 
The far hilltop, all agleme 
With a splendur— elfin tinted— 
Of the Summer's golden sheen, 



33 



When the sleepy sprite of harvest 
Dimples ore the medow grass 
Brakin into languid billos 
Where her keerless footsteps pass, 
An her breth, a sutil fragranse 
From the poppie fields of night, 
Sets my vagrunt fancies dreamin, 
Fills my soul with ca'm delight, 

Then I own that I grow shiftless 
As the truant, reckless breze 
Noddin in the golden wheatfield, 
Dozin in the orchurd trees, 
An I jest forgit my labors, 
Restin in the checkered shade. 
Work's all right for recreashun, 
Loafin is a better trade. 



TO MY SOUL 

When first there came from out unfathomed void 
God's inmost, holy thoughts objective made, 

And chaos vanquished by mandate divine, 
Affrighted fled His presence, all dismayed, 

When o'er the boundless dome He spread His scroll, 
In planet-words His thoughts engraved thereon — 

A record grand of his sublimity — 
Unchanged as He through all the ages gone, 

E'en then wast thou in being, cycles old, 

Grayed with the frost of ages, bent with time; 

Allwise, supremely potent, grandly free, 
Endowed with knowledge limitless, divine, 



35 



Ne'er was thou born and never shalt thou die, 
Nor time nor place knew thy nativity, 

A part of God and near as wond'rous strong, 
And great as His wast thy divinity. 

Long hadst thou kept the vigil of the years, 

Far hadst thou roamed in mighty wand 'rings wide, 

All uncontrolled, unshackled, unconfined, 

Hadst shaped thy course with thought's capricious 
tide. 

Yet thou didst fall as even angels fall, 

Forsook and cast aside thy potency, 
Born into man, became a worthless clod, 

Low swain of earth; assumed mortality. 



36 



High hast thou ruled 'midst splendor's grand estate, 
Clanked have thy chains within the felon's cell, 

Deep drank life's joys and drained its bitter dregs, 
Lived in its highmost heaven, known its hell. 

Long years thou sat in splendor on the throne 
That ruled the ancient empire of the Nile; 

In Caesar's time thou knew the seven hills; 

The cloak of Christ thou touched, received his 
smile. 

And from the years thy heritage received, 
To learn and know all pleasure and all pain, 

To put aside the dross, hold fast this truth; 
That all, save knowledge, is and shall be vain. 



37 



When thou hast cast earth's attributes aside, 

And freed from cumb'ring weight of mortal 
frame, 

Groped from the night into eternal day, 

And past high honors and debasing shame, 

Thou shalt be strong again, surpassing strong, 

Nor good nor evil be but only wise; 
Beyond life's cares, forgotten all its wrongs, 

Knowledge supreme shall be thy paradise. 



38 



BUD SAYS 



Say, ef you've got the side ache bad, amd its hurtin 

like the duce, 
Don't try a-holdin of yer breath; w'y that aint enny 
use. 
Jest pick a stone fum off the ground an spit on it, 

you know, 
En put it right square back agen — the pain is sure 
to go. 

You'll never try to kill a toad ef you've got enny 

brain, 
You'll get the warts all on yer hands, just as soon 
as comes a rain, 
An nen you'll have to cut 'em out, er knot 'em off 

with silk — 
To kill a wart-toad makes your cows jest all give 
give bloody milk. 



'N ef a hornet stings you bad, you take a piece of 

clay 
'N spit on it 'n put it on the stung spot right away, 
'N it will draw the pizen out an do it awful quick ; 
But ef you dont do it at twonce, 'twill make you 
awful sick. 

Say, w'en you go a-fishin, ef you step across yer pole, 

Ye '11 never ketch a single fish, not in the bestest hole, 

'Nless you step right back agen, the other way, 

you know, 
P'vided thet you do it right, an solemn-like an 
slow. 

I had a lot of great big warts a-growin on my hand 
'Til it looked like a warty toad. 'En then, great 
land! 



40 



My uncle Dudley took 'em off, cut notches in a 

stick 
An put the notches on the warts, nen burned it 

up real quick, 

'N cross my heart an hope to die ef in a week or so 
Ef ever last one wasn't gone, — jest as he sed they'd 
go. 
It aint no sin to tell a lie ef you've got yer fingers 

crossed. 
You tie a string around yer thumb, you'll find wat 
you have lost. 

An jest last night, our old dog, Jack, he whimpered, 

howled and cried 
Til dad he sez that he is sure some one has certain 
died; 
An nen today he read aloud, it gave us all a shock, 
A man was struck an killed, you know, way out 
in Little Rock. 



When a snapper-turkle gits real mad and gits aholt 

yer toe, 
Its got to thunder mighty loud afore he '11 let you go ; 
En ef you want to ketch some fish, you can try it 

soon an late, 
You'll never have no luck at all, less you spit on 
the bait. 

Bill Jones he ses that it aint so, a horsehair turns to 

snake ; 
He ses the hull blame thing's a lie, an jest a nawful 
fake. 
But then, wat kin you 'spect of him? He growed 

right up in town 
Where they haint got no frogs nor toads nor 
ennything around. 



42 



REVERIES 



Toilworn, with business cares harassed, 
I cease my labors of the day; 
With dark forebodings all oppressed, 
Far from the madd'ning throngs I stray; 
Far from life's crowded thoroughfare, 
To seek thy solace, my cigar. 

Far wandering friend, from Southland mild, 
Thy ministrations banish gloom, 
From distant lands, a tropic child 
Of dainty form and rare perfume; 
Fair saint on friendly errand bent, 
A missionary of content. 



u 



For cheerless were departed days, 
As cheerless seem the days to come, 
And life holds many rugged ways 
To journey ere I reach my home; 
A home where those with toiling bent 
May rest at peace and be content. 

Now passing from the somber scenes 
I watch thy embers lightly fall 
And pass to peaceful, kindly dreams 
Of youth and friends beyond recall, 
I hear their voices as of yore 
And live again the old days o'er. 

From out the dim, forgotten past, 
Evoked by thy sweet, mystic spell — 
A benediction 'round me cast — 
Arise old scenes, remembered well; 
Born of thy incense, swing and sway 
The wraiths of friends of yesterday. 



u 



Amidst thy vapors glint and gleam 
A face with lovelight all aglow; 
A form is woven of their sheen — 
My sweetheart wife of long ago; 
I hear again her dear words and 
Feel press of lips and clasp of hand. 

Again Ave wander, as of old 
We trod the shining primrose way, 
And, hearts aflame, the story told 
By lovers told at close of day; 
Her sweet, sad smile I see again — 
! dream of bliss. ! dream of pain. 

The deep'ning shades of evening fall, 
The fading landscape darker grown, 
The chill winds hasten to recall 
My vagrant thoughts to fancies flown, 
'Midst hallowed dreams of yesterday 
And its wrecked idols, now I pray : 



45 



"0! God of love, divinely strong, 
Guide Thou my steps, though strangely bent ; 
Teach me the right, to shun the wrong, 
To kiss the cross and be content; 
Knowingly that blindly though I stray, 
Thy guiding hand e'er leads the way." 

So farewell friend, thy mission done, 
Thy dark'ning ashes old and dead; 
All finished is thy work begun, 
Ere, iinconfmed, thy spirit fled; 
Most faithful comrade I have known — 
Thou gav'st thy life to cheer my own. 



JUNE 

Thar's a drowsy kind of murmur 
'Round the bloomin appul trees, 

Thar's a hidden, swingin senser 
Spillin perfume on the breese; 

From old natur's big pipe orgun- 
Ever stop pulled open wide — 

Like a glorious hallaluyer, 
Blooms afar a rithmik tide; 

Tis an ever risin anthum 
Throbbin through the quickened air 

To the open dore of heavun 
And the angels listenin there; 

All the world is full of gladness 
And her heart strings is in tune 

When the oreherd trees is bloomin 
On a sunny morn in June. 



Thar's a lazy kind of hummin 
Mungst the clover's crimsun blume 

Like a tapestra of musick 
Woven on a mistik lume. 

And the air is all a quiver 
Ringin with the songs of love, 

Risin sweet from grove and medder 
Tribut to His throne above; 

Hartborn anthums of His creturs 
Denizuns of wood and plane, 

Golden threads of joyus rithum 
Tangled in a silken skane, 

Drownden out all sounds of sorro 
In a universul tune, 

When the orcherd trees is bloomin 
On a sunny morn in June. 



4s: 



And I wander through the medder 
Whar the brook is all agleme 

Darkened with the flowers shadders 
Silvur whar the sunrays streme; 

Smuth as velvut, flower patturned, 
Is the carput of the grass, 

And a milyun sparklin dimuns 
Gleme in dewdrops as I pass, 

And I jest drink in the musick 
Risin to the sky above, 

And I feel that heavuns near me, 
And I know that God is love, 

And I seem to see Him smilin 
In this glorius summer moon, 

When the orcherd trees is bloomin 
On a sunny morn in June. 



W 



Now, there aint no use in dyin 
When thars heavun all about; 

Twould be just as useless thinkin 
Of the speckles on a trout 

As twould be to try to better 
Things we see on ever hand; 

This is jest as good as ever 
Is the joyus promis land. 

Though you cant quite see the angels 
You can hear their voices ring, 

Risin faint ore silvan chorus 
Like the plesunt call of spring; 

And to jest go on alivin 
Is to me the greatest boon, 

When the orcherd trees is bloomin 
On a sunny morn in June. 



50 



EVENING 



When the shades of night are falling, 
And the poplars, grim and tall, 
Cast their ever length 'ning shadows 
Far across the garden wall, 
And the young moon's silver crescent 
Hangs aslant the western sky 
And the drowsy evening breezes 
Gently in the maples sigh, 

And the hours of toil are numbered, 
And the troubles of the day 
That seems ever to harass me 
Like grim specters, steal away, 
And above the distant hilltop, 
Shines a gleam from Venus fair, 
And the earth breathes benediction 
Like the one that follows prayer, 



51 



Stretched at length on earth 's broad bosom, 

I, life's captive, am set free, 

And I hear her great heart throbbing, 

With the love she holds for me; 

With her pitying arms she folds me, 

Good earth-mother to her breast, 

As she whispers softly to me, 

Hush, my child, lie here and rest. 

Gone, forgotten are all sorrows, 

Care and troubles cast aside, 

Like a work-worn, worthless garment — > 

Peace and joy with me abide, 

Peace that passeth understanding, 

Joy that evils has withstood 

And it seems that heaven's near me 

And I know that God is good. 



52 



THE SHADOW OF THE CROSS 



Wearied His feet are and bleeding, 

All torn by the rugged road, 

And His drooping shoulders aching 

Bend beneath their crushing load. 

Falls the beaded drops of anguish 

Fast upon the bitter way 

Which the Master leads to triumph, 

To the crest of Calvary, 

Ever on before Him going — 

Symbol of our sin and loss — 

And His fait 'ring footsteps guiding, 

Is the shadow of the cross. 



S3 



Upward climbs that shadow slowly, 
Upward toward Golgotha's crest, 
As it leads the way to torture, 
As it points the path to rest, 
Till He reaches that vile hilltop 
Where a thousand thieves have died; 
And they spit upon their Saviour 
While they watch Him crucified. 
Not alone is he to perish 
That they nail upon the tree; 
But their better selves are dying, 
Damned through all eternity. 

Slowly grows the shadow shorter 
Until shade and substance blend, 
From the cross, now doubly darkened, 
Slow the clouds of night extend, 
Still the multitudes blaspheme Him, 
Sneering all and all in scorn, 



54 



While they lose all hope of heaven 
And He gains his crown of thorn. 
As they shriek forth their derision, 
Reckless of their gain or loss, 
Slow again steals forth a shadow — 
'Tis the shadow of the cross. 

Now the darkness comes at noonday 
Spreading from that awful gloom, 
All the mob is terror stricken, — 
Foulest born of hatred's womb — 
Slowly glide the tortured hours 
Through the sullen glass of pain, 
While the heavens moan in torment 
And the curtain's rent in twain, 
All the inner temple showing, 
Its poor treasures cast aside, 
All alike worn out and worthless, 
For the Christ, our Lord, has died. 



On the wings of blackest midnight 
Spreads a pall o 'er land and sea ; 
It will fade, ah! never, never, 
Never through eternity. 
All our tears may never light it, 
Nor our prayers wipe out that stain; 
In our hearts that sign and symbol 
Shall forever more remain, 
Casting o'er our lives the shadow 
Of our sin and sinning 's shame; 
Shall the cross and its dark shadow 
Be forever more the same. 

O'er the cross above the twilight, 
I can see His shining face, 
Ever filled with love and pity, 
All aglow with peace and grace; 
And His bitter crown of sorrow 
Has become a diadem; 



And in death, a King of Glory 
Has become Him mocked of men. 
My sad heart is filled with rapture 
All unrecking of its loss; 
And my faith rises triumphant 
O'er the shadow of the cross. 



YESTERDAY- TOD AY— TOMORROW 



-l— 

MEETING 
Adrift, on idle stream, 'midst changing scenes 
Our vessels met, and meeting stopped. Screens 
Were the flowers and trees. Along the bank 
We hid awhile away. Our anchors sank 
Beneath the crystal tide, and pausing there 
Our handclasp meeting, born was friendship fair. 



AUF WIEDERSEHN 
Passing, swift flying days, hours of content 
Fast fled; today became tomorrow. Bent 

Were our thoughts on present pleasures. Then 
Came the day of parting. That sad time when- 
So it is ordered — new found friends must part; 
Though lips may smile, tears all unbidden start. 



58 



-3- 

GREETING 

Greeting with beaming- face and cheery smile 
We now wave thee. Then laughter ceases. While 
'Neath its cadence lie tears. Joys quickly change 
To anguish, and pangs of sorrow deep range 
Afresh o 'er happy mood and pleasure light — 
Our pathway, parting, lost in falling night. 

-4- 
FAREWELL 

Midway 'twixt dewy morn and sunny noon 
Of life we stand. Time passes swiftly. Soon 
The noon declines to night. And at eventide 
We cross the bar, and — Christ our pilot,— -ride 
Afar o'er foaming waves or shining sea, 
Drifting to aneh'rage safe, 'neath friendly lee. 



59 



— 5— 

REUNION 
Again, where spring the lovely asphodels 
On fields elysian, where music swells 
Upon the list'ning ear, as in the past, 
We meet. Here pain's unknown and pleasures 
last. 
Again we wander far and side by side. 
Our pathways, joining, never shall divide. 



60 



JEST FILOSOFY 



Thar aint no use in runnin up the track to meet the 

trane, 
Jest set right down, tip back your cheer and rest 

your hart and brane, 
Fur the trane is comin, stedy sure, the whole endurin 

while. 
Twont get in a bit the qwicker ef you cuss instead 

of smile, 
And it wont do a speck of good for you to stew and 

fret; 
The engins run on cole and steme and not on human 

swet. 



61 



Thar aint no use to grumbel ef the thunder dont 

bring rain; 
Suppose the corn is burnin up and all the hay and 

grane, 
Can you bust the drowth up qwieker ef you stand 

around and cuss? 
Will it make the medder greener fer you to rip and 

fuss? 
Why dont you jest relax yourself and sit around and 

grin 
And let God run the world awhile and trust it all to 

Him? 

Thar air sum folks so bizzy thet they aint got time 
to play, 

They never put off anything which they can do to- 
day; 

They go a-tarin on threw life, there muscles ringin 
wet 



62 



And seem to think that they were made jest factories 

for swet. 
Why cant they jest slack up a bit, put off a thing 

or two 
Which, mebby, when tomorrow comes they may not 

haft to do? 

Your little tank will only hold jest so much gasoline, 

And you can burn it mity fast a speeding your ma- 
chine ; 

But ef you take it lazy like, slow down fer curves 
and sand 

Youl find that youl have gas enough to rech the 
promis land; 

And I have notist that the man who sets the rode 
afire 

Most generally is the very one that gits a busted 
tire. 



63 



Fer all things comes to them as wates, tis so the 

adage runs; 
Then whats the use in workin hard twixt morn and 

evenin suns 
To gobel up your neighbors farm, his cows and pigs 

and such, 
And strive fer more and wish you had ole Midas 

golden touch? 
Now, jest set down and rest yourself and things 

wont be no worse 
Ef youl trust God to do His best to run the uneverse. 



(A 



A TRAVESTRY 



A guilty culprit sat within the dock, 

His soul deep steeped in the black dregs of hell, 

Besotted and debased; from honor fair 

Low had he come as those fair angels fell, 

Who from their high estate were overthrown, 

Scourged through the gates wide flung, the vaulted 
dome 
Of heaven echoing their souls' sad knell. 

Charged did he stand with crime against the state, 
Of foul and loathsome things of which we speak 

With 'bated breath. Charged that with brutish 
strength 
He sought to wrest from a pure child and weak 

Those virtues which sweet maidenhood holds dear 

And precious to her soul: and brings a curse 
Upon him who would thus her ruin seek. 



65 



Accused he stood, with deep guilt written o'er 
His sodden face, half turned in shame away, 

A thing of horror to all pure minded men 
To make them pause and silently to pray 

That when the court its solemn judgment gives 

In case like this fair justice shall be done 
Apart and all alone from mercy's sway. 

True, was he born of sin and of deep lust 
And sinful passion was he foul begot; 

The wretched heir of the delinquencies 
Of maid immoral and a drunken sot 

Who ne'er did call him son, nor aiding hand 

Thrust forth to dash aside that whisky fiend 
Which held the boy and steeped his soul in rot. 

Thus all alone he stood before the bar 
To be condemned of our sweet justice fair, 

To carry out the mandate of the law 

That on his aching shoulders he shall bear 



66 



Alone, amidst the sneers of thoughtless men, 
Within the felon's cell, in stripes arrayed, 

That breaking- load of sin of which he is the heir. 

Just was the sentence and upright the judge 
That on this clod of more than worthless clay 

Pronounced the judgment of outraged law, 
And from mankind relentless shut away 

And hid behind the prison's clanging door 

More weakness than of sin. And from a soul 
Born in His likeness hid God's gladsome day. 

But pause, kind friend, and pausing kindly note 
Those vagrant fancies which unbid intrude 

Upon the mind. And while we do uphold 
The sentence of the court in justice rude, 

Another takes the place within the dock 

Of him condemned. Now let the trial be fair 
And, may God grant, the prosecution shrewd. 



Not charged by affidavit signed and sworn 
Who now before the bar of justice stands 

Is he, but by outraged womanhood, 

That through the years has suffered at his hands; 

He who stood by and with a heedless sneer 

Did note the hopeless look of him condemned; 
Not for this man has been the law's commands. 

Now let fair Mercy take her place aside, 
And Justice slip from off her eyes the band, 

Her poised sword upflung to flash and fall 

Swift and unerring. Vengeance steels the hand 

That, in a cause like this, for virtue's sake 

Shall strike from off the shoulders that foul head 
That plots against the maidens of our land. 

Called are the witnesses, a vast array 
Come trooping in, with lips that hiss 

And pointing fingers quiver in his face, 
"Thou foul seducer and abortionist" 



68 



They cry, while through the audience there runs 
A murmur heard above their stifled sobs. 
Can there for him no punishment exist? 

Another witness comes; stay! who is this 
Who silent glides so noiseless o'er the floor? 

Why! 'tis a wraith! Has hell unbidden come 
To this fair trial and opened wide its door? 

This was a maid, once pure, despoiled by him 

On whom we sit in judgment here today; 
She comes his rest to ruin evermore. 

The trial is done. Behind the sacred bench 
Lies stacked his gold; from that is freedom born; 

And crushed beneath the yoke fair maidenhood 
Betrayed again, now wears her crown of thorn; 

And gentle Mercy, seeking e'er the good, 

No cause had found in him to intervene; 
And Justice droops her head again, forlorn. 



69 



Prate not to uie of our tribunals' fair 
And exact justice unto all men giv'n. 

The one received the felon's stripes and cell; 
The other merely lost his hope of heav'n; 

The one, unguided, only lost the way, 

The other, knowing, chose the way awrong, 
And Satan shall receive his soul unshriven. 



70 



THE ISLANDS OF HOME 



The sun-kissed islands lie over the sea, 

O'er the sea that is wild and gray, 
Where the storm clouds lower and the loud winds 
roar 

And colder than death is the spray. 

The islands of home are beautiful oi 

That lie in the calm summer seas, 
Snow-white gleam the sands of their coral strands 

And soft is their langourous breeze. 

The islands of home are fanciful ones 

I see in the land of my dreams, 
With daffodils bright in meadows of light 

Where glisten the mystical streams. 



Dark may be the sky and darker the day, 

When at last I put out to sea 
With the boatman pale in his vessel frail 

That carries my Pilot and me. 

Though the waves dash madly upon the shore 
And the beach is smothered in foam, 

I know o'er the brim of the earth's far rim 
Lie the peaceful islands of home. 

Though far from the islands of home I've strayed, 

And distant the lands where I roam, 
I'll anchor fast in the harbor at last, 

And rest in the islands of home. 



72 



THOUGHTS IN A CHURCH 



Dimly shines the Sabbath morning 

through the deeply leaded panes, 
Lighting up the vaulted ceilings 

with a symphony of stains, 
Tinting as with fairy brushes 

all the highly polished pews, 
Shim 'ring o'er the gleaming pulpit 

in a medley fair of hues, 
Bringing forth a deeper crimson 

from the carpets rich and rare, 
Where the wealthy of the nation 

kneel in semblance of prayer. 



73 



Bright the silken gowns are shining 

while the satin glints and gleams, 
And their rustling is as gentle 

as the music heard in dreams; 
Here a wealth of jewels glitters, 

diamonds hard and cold as ice, 
Cold as hearts of Roman soldiers 

offering up the Sacrifice. 
Turquoise blue as eyes above them, 

rubies gleaming darkly red, 
All in honor of a Master 

without place to lay his head. 

Peals aloud a glad hosanna 
from the organ and the choir, 

Stabbing through the solemn silence 
like a breath of liquid fire; 

Rising high and all triumphant 
to the marble dome above. 



74 



Singing of a Christ-child lowly, 
telling of a Saviour's love. 

Soothing is this hired anthem 
to the haughty of the land, 

Soothing as the clink of silver 
counted out in Judas' hand. 

At the portal stands a beggar, 

It is Lazarus of old, 
Asking meekly for assistance, 

for a trifle of your gold; 
Mary, wicked, wanton Mary, 

penitent and all in tears, 
Sits in sorrow on your church step 

batt'ling with her doubts and fears. 
He, a filthy, worthless beggar, 

she a prostitute forlorn, 
Have received the Saviour's blessing 

as you earn his bitter scorn. 



75 



Build your churches, heaven kissing, 

carved and stained by cunning hands, 
Line your pews with silken cushions, 

carpets wove in distant lands, 
Dim the light of God's own sunshine, 

Filter it through tinted panes, 
Hoping that with haughty grandeur 

to wipe out the guilty stains 
From your hearts and souls, forever 

blighted, blasted by the greed, 
That is parcel of your being 

and the trade-mark of your breed. 

"Lay not up in earth your treasures, 
tempting moth and thief to steal; 

As you deal with these, my children, 
shall my Father with you deal; 

Sell your houses, lands and baubles, 
give your money to the poor; 



76 



Life is short and time is fleeting, 
heaven only shall endure," 

Still we hear the Master speaking, 
as He spoke in days of old, 

"Know ye that the gates of heaven 
open not to keys of gold?" 

What think you that Christ, the lowly, 

cares for all the puny power 
That can raise a church majestic, 

with its springing dome or tower? 
Live the humble life and simple, 

poor in purse but rich in heart, 
Reckless, heedless of the morrow, 

keeping from earth's sins apart; 
Always onward, always upward, 

let your pathway ever tend, 
Hoping, trusting, praying, knowing, 

He will keep you to the end. 



77 



EVENING IN A CEMETERY 



The sun is low. Far flung" the shadows lie — 
Fantastic images of whispering grove — 
Grotesquely painted of the sun and shade, 
A checkered coverlet o'er earth's broad breast 
Thrown o 'er the graves of those who lie at rest 
Within the precincts of this peaceful glade, 
And cover them with mantle soft of love, 
Impartial all alike to low and high. 



Here let us pause, here let us pause awhile, 
Life's high emprise and all its cares forgot; 
Here for a moment cease our strife for gain, 
And careful con the lesson we may learn 
And learning profit great thereby, and turn 
An open mind to Nature's lore again, 
And here, at last, in this, God's holy spot. 
Renounce we all our petty thoughts of guile 

A saint rests here — a holy man of God — 
Who knew not how — nor ever strived to learn — 
To chisel from his friends the dross called wealth, 
But only how to walk the path of light 
That leads from dawn into the falling -night 
Where all must rest at last. Feared not the stealth 
Of sickness, sin nor death. He. never turned 
His face toward sin. Sleeps he beneath this sod. 



79 



He walked with God and was his soul serene. 
When death came stalking through a neighbor's door 
From the faint heart of him deep stricken there 
He drove the chilling terror quick away 
And by his eloquence of whispered prayer 
And gentle urging taught him how to pray, 
To see the Christ who with His love and power 
Could grant sweet peace beyond life's fading scene. 

The poor lie here. This is the potters' field, 
Unlovely portion of this hallowed ground; 
For e'en in death distinction must be made 
Between the pauper and him of high estate, 
And it is not meet that both the low and great 
Shall rest at last within the self-same shade 
Cast by the thorn or yew. The lowly mound 
Of both the rich and poor to caste must yield. 



80 



A rich man here— Your pardon, death, I crave- 
There are no rich or poor lie buried here, 
For all are equal in their last estate, 
And all that live are vassals of your might; 
Soon gone their little day, unending night' 
Doth give them rest. Forgotten love and hate, 
And, side by side, within these borders drear 
Lie low and high, each in his shallow grave. 

Now mark you well! Behold this noble shaft 

That stands so firm upon its granite base, 

Deep carved with skill; his epitaph is here 

Of him who rests in sleep without an end. 

Read what it says: -To all the poor, a friend, 

He gave his substance that their lives less drear 

Might be, nor ever turned away his face 

From those in need; He knew no greed nor graft/ 



'Tis all a lie, and this they know full well 
Who cut these words so deeply and so true; 
About his debtors lie; could they but rise 
And shake their crumbling fists full in his face 
And make his deaf ears hear, all in disgrace 
Would hang his bony head and his dull eyes 
From out their grinning sockets start anew 
And search for peace amidst the depths of hell. 

The wind blows cold, come let us on our way; 
The sun is set and night comes on apace; 
The low 'ring shadows hover all about 
And brooding silence wraps the world in peace. 
Have we our lesson learned that we shall cease 
All useless striving after wealth nor flout 
Our puny power in poorer neighbor's face, 
To humbly live and still more humbly pray, 



82 



That the great God of love, divine and dear, 
May teach us all to walk the path aright, 
To put aside the dross, to look above 
Swift passing things of life, useless and vain; 
To see the Master on the tree of pain, 
His tortured face still all alight with love, 
A guiding beacon through the reek of night, 
And make our faith triumphant over fear. 



88 



THE WAY 



We're weak with the burdens we carry 
O'er the long and tiresome way; 

We're faint with the heat and the labor 
'Neath the noontide's pitiless ray; 

And useless seem all of our strivings 
And we long for the end of the day. 

Our yesterdays all disappointments, 
Our todays brimming over with pain, 

And it seems that all our tomorrows 
Will be yesterdays over again, 

And faith's gleaming sunshine forever 
Be dispersed by life's clouds and its rain. 



84 



With faces uplifted in longing, 

O'er the ocean's far, uttermost rim, 

We catch the faint glow of a promise 

Flashing upward through clouds on its brim, 

And our faith perceives its fulfillment 
In a glory no doubting may dim. 

Then what is the use of repining? 

And what is the use to complain? 
Success must e'er follow reverses 

As sunshine must e'er follow the rain; 
And the path that leads o'er the hilltop, 

E'er leads down to the valley again. 

Leads down to the fair, smiling valley 

Where all hopes and our dreams we attain. 

And useless seem all our strivings 

Where forgotten are all disappointments, 
Forgotten are all trouble and pain — 

We find at the end of the journey 

Our home and our lost loved ones aa'ain. 



S3 



COURTIN 



Like to go a-courtin 
On a winter day, 
Ekal to a circus 
Better than a play; 
Fun to see the sheriff 
Bitin off a chaw; 
Like to hear the lawyers 
Stand around and jaw. 

Like to hear Frank Jennings 
Pleadin of a case; 
Truth jest sets triumphant 
On his smilin face; 
Ought to be a showman, 
Tell you he can act; 
Pretty long on talkin, 
Mity short on fact. 

Little Jimmy Jackson 
Lookin wise, — but shaw! 
Knows a lot of schemin, 
Mity little law; 



Slick as any deakin, 
Voice as smooth as grease, 
Lyin jest as easy — 
Conscience is decease. 

Here's a out-town lawyer, 
Mister Henry Rake, 
Slippery as an eel skin, 
Crooked as a snake; 
Got a lot of bizness 
Rollin up the pelf. 
Gives his wife his money — 
Fraid to trust hisself. 

Lawyer Henry comes to 
Settle an estate, 
Aint no shakes at practise, 
Only jest probate. 
Mister Jesse Shylock 
Dresses mity grand, 
Makes a mint of money 
Sellin lots and land. 



87 



There is Fatty Jenkins, 
Sets around and dreams, 
Writes a lot of jingles, 
Head is full of schemes; 
Weighs above two hundred, 
Yet, in spite o' that, 
Cant call him a fat man, 
But a man that's fat. 

Esquire William Wilson, 
Senator of State, 
Great on yellocution, 
Knows he kin norate. 
Dont like his Polly Tickle 
Views a bit, By Jing! 
But I've alius found him 
Straighter than a string. 

Listen to the youngsters 
With their gifts of gab, 
On each other's doin's 
Closely keepin tab; 



Somethin 'sides their cow-lick 
Underneath their hat; 
Got more nerve than judgment- 
They'll get over that. 

Thought all lawyers crooked, 
Now I dont, b'Gee! 
Find them jest as honest 
As us farmers be — 
Good and bad among 'em, 
Straight and crooked sticks; 
Some as square as taxes, 
Others up to tricks. 

Dep'ty Clerk is failin, 
Growin old and gray, 
Got a lot o' gumption, 
Seen a better day. 
Bailiff looks important, 
Bigety and proud, 
You can trust his keepin 
Order in a crowd. 



89 



See the poor defendant 
Lookin mity pale, 
Knows ef he's convicted, 
Got to go to jail; 
Knows ef he's acquitted, 
Sure to come to harm — 
Thinks his pesky lawer 
Like to take his farm. 

Fun to watch the jurors 
Settin in a row, 
Lookin wise and solemn, 
Jest es ef they know 
What the Judge is sayin, 
What it is 'ats ment 
By "cum'lative evidence ' : 
"Criminal intent." 

Judge a-lookin pleasant, 
Noddin of his head, 
Jest es ef believin 
Everthing 'ats said. 



90 



Bet ye. they dont fool him 
With their tommyrot — 
Mity hard to change him 
When his mind is sot. 

Like to go a-courtin 
On a winter day, 
Ekal to a circus, 
Better than a play. 
Like to chaw terbacker, 
Spit an be content — 
Cause it aint a-costin 
Me a single cent. 



MEMORIES 



In my cozy study, after fall of night, 
Half asleep and dreaming, by the fire bright, 
Faces, forms of comrades, of the long ago 
Dance before my vision in its genial glow. 

And the years slip from me with their care and 
pain, 
Dreaming by the fire, I'm a boy again, 
Full of quick resentment at a slight or wrong, 
In my soul the music of unuttered song. 



v: 



In the old, red schoolhouse, at the organ old, 
Sits a fair musician, as in days of old, 
From her flying fingers the soul of music breathes 
As she plays the old hymn, "Bringing in the 
sheaves. ' ' 

Clear and sweet our voices sing the olden tune, 
Sweet and pure as sunshine on a morn in June; 
Deeper swells the music, at the master's nod, 
Rising ever higher to the throne of God. 

Gone, the fair musician now is only dust, 

And her casket's handles long since have turned to 

rust, 
Still, I hear her singing, soft as evening breeze 
Whispers 'midst the maples, "Bringing in the 

sheaves. ' ' 



93 



Sweet is retrospection at the close of da.y^ 

Sad is recollection of life's yesterday. 

When the harvest's ended, midst the falling leaves, 

May I go rejoicing, "Bringing in the sheaves." 



94 



THE CALL OF THE ROAD 



A vagrant, I move on forever, 
Far over the hill and away, 
Unheeding the needs of the morrow, 
Sufficient to me is today; 
The nation's broad highways I travel, 
With wanderlust as my goad; 
I've a curse (or a blessing) upon me, 
For I list to the call of the road. 

What think you I care for your riches? 
Am I not as wealthy as He 
Who, doing the will of the Father, 
Tramped onward from river to sea, 
With only the blue sky above Him, 
With naught but the earth for a bed, 
With only His mantle to warm Him 
And a rock to pillow His head? 



95 



For all of j^our mills and mansions, 
For all of your silver and gold, 
For all of your baubles and jewels, 
For all of your treasures untold, 
I would not exchange my condition, 
My freedom from worry and load, 
Nor the pleasures that always attend me 
When I list to the call of the road. 



EVENTIDE 



The weary day has passed away 

And it is eventide; 
And now once more along- the shore 

I walk the sea beside, 
And gaze with rapture on such scenes 

That artist's brush deride. 

Far o'er the waters of the bay 
The sun in splendor gleams 

And gilds the cliffs along the shore 
Like witchery of dreams 

And paints a rainbow in the spray 
'Til earth transformed seems. 



The criss-cross shadows in the grove 

Of maples on the shore 
Weave with their moving fingertips 

Of lights and shadows o'er 
The emerald turf, a checkered screen 

Remembered evermore. 

Far-flung, the banners of the sky 

All purple fringed with gold, 
Their silver lining shining through 

Full many a wind-torn fold, 
Show, through their rents, fair visions bright 

Too wondrous to behold. 

God grant that when I come to die 

It be at eventide, 
That through the breakers on the bar 

My bark may safely ride, 
And I sail out to sun-kissed seas 

My Pilot by my side. 



98 



THE ISLAND FAIR OF DREAMS 



When the toilsome day is ended 

And the night wind, chill and cold, 
Howls about my ratt'ling casements 

Like a beast that's over bold; 
And the low 'ring clouds of evening 

Swiftly scud across the sky, 
And the heaped-up drifts of Winter 

Deeply in the forests lie. 

I see visions in the fire, 

Dancing in its genial blaze, 
And the present is forgotten 

In a dream of other days, 
And my study walls, like magic, 

Melt away, until it seems 
That again I am transported 

To the island fair of dreams. 



9') 



There the air is heavy laden 

With the spicy breath of morn 
As it blows across the meadows 

With their flowers newly born; 
And the sky is blue above me 

As the sea is blue below, 
With its shining beach of coral 

Gleaming like new-fallen snow. 

Once again I hear the music 

Of a voice with laughter ring, 
Like the brooding call of Summer 

Mingled with the notes of Spring; 
And I look across the valley 

Where the brook in sunshine gleams, 
And beside it stands my sweetheart 

Of the island fair of dreams. 



100 



Hand in hand we wander onward 

O'er the beds of asphodels 
Far across the fields elysian 

Where the soul of beauty dwells; 
And our hearts melt into music 

Of the noblest, grandest themes. 
0, the gladness and the grandeur 

Of the island fair of dreams. 

Now, the vision fades before me, 

Fades as gently as the light 
Of an evening, merging slowly 

Into darkness of the night; 
And my wife is bending o'er me 

With a smile. Her dear face beams 
Down upon me. She's my sweetheart 

Of the island fair of dreams. 



101 



MORNING AT CEDAR LAKE 



God made a dimple in the earth 

And filled it up with dew, 

Then spread a carpet green around, 

All canopied with blue, 

Smoothed out the sandy beaches white, 

With forests lined the shore, 

And made of all a vision fair 

Remembered evermore. 

Faint from the poppy fields of night 

Breathes soft a lang'rous air, 

That soothes the throbbing brow of pain,- 

Sweet banisher of care — 

While mists rise slowly with the sun 

And shimmer as they rise, 

And, dancing o'er the water, seem 

Thin veils of paradise. 



102 



My light skiff floats with idle oars, 
Of vagrant breeze the sport, 
Afar o'er dimpling waters bright, 
Heedless of time or port. 
Agleam with rosy light of morn, 
The dancing waves pass by, 
And each a picture, fair and true, 
Mirror of earth and sky. 

Blue is the cloudless dome above, 
Blue is the lake below; 
The murm'ring surf upon the beach, 
Breathes music soft and low. 
Clear is the water and as pure 
And sweet as morning rain. 
My soul enraptured here receives 
An anodyne for pain. 

Fair in the dancing light of morn 
The pure white lilies gleam, 
Each snowy petal floating on 
Its tiny raft of green, 



103 



Rests in each cluster, safe and sure, 
A mint of purest gold, 
And all a play-ground for the bees 
And fairies overbold. 

Amidst the matted rushes thick 

The herons drowsing stand; 

Booms forth the bittern's dismal call, 

Afar o'er lake and land; 

While from the island's distant shores 

Where thick the rushes grow, 

The pied frogs' orchestra resounds 

With solemn chords and low. 

Here, I forget the city's call, 

The sordid strife for gain; 

Here, I forget life's struggles fierce, 

Its losses, pleasure, pain. 

Here, can the whole sad world go hang; 

Give me my daily view 

Of lake and wood at break of dawn, 

I'll give the rest to you. 



104 



ANODYNE 



Come, dear brother, put aside 
Schemes of gain and thoughts of pride. 

Let us trip a lively measure 
Let us all take a fling at pleasure. 

All too soon the spring time passes 
Hearts of youth and blush of lasses. 

Come, dear brother, put away 
All the thoughts of yesterday; 

Yesterday is gone forever 
With its gains and its endeavor. 

What's the use of toil and slaving? 
Now is all that's worth the saving. 



105 



Come, dear brother, for today 
Let us wander out and play; 

Let us just forget tomorrow. 
Banish all our sighs and sorrow, 

For a day we'll cease our strivings. 
All our plans and our eontrivings. 

Come, dear brother, put aside 
Thoughts of wealth. Be satisfied 

Just to play. Forget our sinning, 
All the thoughts of loss or winning, 

All wealth is false and worthless pride — 
Come, let us be just satisfied. 



106 



GRIT 

Grit makes the man, 

The want of it the chump, 
The men who win 

Lay hold, hang on and hump. 



107 






























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